


Realmblight: The Fendyg

by tlarn



Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Horror, F/F, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 16:13:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlarn/pseuds/tlarn
Summary: A far off mountain village calls for a hunting party to take care of their beast problem. What they find is a local legend. A witch comes to assist, in more ways than one.





	Realmblight: The Fendyg

This was supposed to be a simple hunt.

 

A group of mercenaries were hired to take care of a particularly nasty beast bothering a collection of villages far in the mountains. They had been told that it had made its nest in the forest, and was hunting the local livestock. It was large and fast, but not so much that it couldn’t hide in the forests when it needed to. From the looks of the bites, claw marks, and what it hunted, it was a good guess that the creature was some kind of large bear, either preparing for hibernation or claiming a new territory.

The villagers were helpful enough; they offered lodging to the hunting party and some food, what they could part with this late into the season. Winter was approaching, and what was on hand had to last through the season. It was enough to get them by for the time they’d need to track and kill the creature.

In the week they had stayed, the farms were attacked twice. The first time led to cattle being killed and fed upon, with one carried off by the creature. It was smart enough not to leave much traces of where it had gone, much to the tracker’s dismay. The second time, however, one of the farmers was abducted. There was a silver lining to this, though; the creature made it easier to track it.

Though the farmer was presumed dead, they had managed to wound it before it killed them. Its blood was easy to see in the forest during the day, thick and dark like ink. The party agreed that what their quarry was no bear, and that this was their best chance to at least find out what it could be.

 

When they found its nest, this was the first sign they should’ve turned back. The outside of the cave’s entrance was littered with carcasses and bones, of animals and of men. Though it had reportedly only appeared recently, there were far too many half-eaten corpses for that to be the case.

Amongst the smell of ripe carrion was the smell of burnt tar, coming from inside the cave. But, before the party could begin delving into the caves, the creature had caught them by surprise. It had led them to the cave, and then climbed the trees, out of sight, waiting for its pursuers.

The first to fall was the tracker. He was crushed by the creature as it lept from the treetops. Next was one of the hunters, who was beside the tracker and not fast enough to realize what had happened before its claws found his head. After that, the hunters further away were able to sink several arrows into the creature’s hide, but all that seemed to do is anger it and lead it to them. It roared, and on four legs it ran to them. With a single swipe it took out their legs.

 

The only ones left were the warrior, who acted as a bodyguard, and the cleric she were protecting. In case the creature was infernal in nature, the cleric came with them to insure such possibilities were covered. But, in matters of beasts, the cleric could do nothing more than keep wounds tended and morale high.

The warrior kept close to her charge, both retreating behind nearby foliage, out of the creature’s direct sight. “What in Oliath’s name is that thing,” the man whimpered, clutching his faith’s symbol around a necklace. This was his only form of protection, aside from the warrior. The older man wore only his clothes and robe, and carried only his staff; people such as him needed nothing else.

The warrior carefully pulled her sword from its scabbard, so as not to make a sound. The creature had made quick work of her teammates; their screaming ended as soon as they had hidden themselves.

“I have no idea,” the warrior responded, throat taut. The loss of her company members, her friends, was something she was going to have to deal with later. For now, there was only one thing on her mind: bring anyone alive back to the village, and regroup.

 

The creature moved on from its meager prey. It lifted its large head, sniffing. The warrior watched it carefully, behind branches and between leaves. It had a mottled green hide, without fur or scales. It was similar to a bear, but its limbs were longer and set wider apart; it was swifter and more deadly because of this. Its head was reptilian, but at its tip was a black beak, moist and stained crimson with its recent kills. Black talons dug into the ground as it took each step. The trees surrounding the nest were covered in deep gashes; some trees were dying or dead from the cuts.

The creature continued to smell the air around it, and as it did, the two survivors did what they could to shrink further into their hiding place. It knew there were more around the area, and close by. If they did nothing, it would surely find them.

 

The warrior kept her breath quiet and her heart calm. There was a way out of this, there had to be. It was too fast to outrun. It could climb the trees and was able to go unseen, make no noise. It wasn’t just acting as a predator; it had claimed this area as its territory. Even if they got to the forest’s edge, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t continue the chase beyond that.

The only weapons of any use were on the warrior, and it was only a sword and shield and leather armor with iron plates on the shoulders, front, and back, along with a helm. This was sufficient for beasts with her expertise, but against a creature like this, it may as well be parchment.

Before the warrior had a chance to come up with something, the cleric had taken matters into his own hands. He had left their hiding place and was making a run for it.

“No, stop!” the warrior called out, but it was too late. The creature saw the cleric’s fluttering robes, in stark contrast to the foliage. It charged down the hill from its nest, coming upon the panicked man in seconds. His own screams were cut short as the creature sank its beak into his neck.

 

The warrior’s body went cold. She watched as it feasted, mercifully unable to see her charge beyond the creature’s great body obscuring it. Its thick tail swayed in the air, as if gleefully.

What else could be done? She was the last in the company; the most she could hope for would be for the village chief to send back word that they had disappeared into the forest after the creature, and send more help. It could be a week at best before any help arrived. How could she live past the next few minutes?

The shock allowed her to keep still and quiet. There was little else to do but hope the creature would be satisfied and return to its nest, allow her to escape and bring back more help. But, just as this thought crossed her mind, the creature slowly turned, heavy footsteps shaking the dirt under her. Several black eyes on each side of its head turned forward to face the warrior.

She rose back to her feet. She gripped the sword and raised her shield. There was nothing else to do but fight. It was better than laying in the dirt.

 

The creature roared and stampeded straight to her. If nothing else, it was predictable. Waiting for the right moment, she ducked under the creature’s right swipe and blindly swung their sword above them, hoping to catch some muscle, some tendon, some ligament with its edge. All it did was lodge into its skin and rip free from her grip. It screeched at the injury, and spun around to swing again at its prey.

The warrior caught the back of its leg and was sent flying. Her arm snapped like a twig trying to block with her shield-arm, and she felt something in her chest break. The pain only grew worse as she landed, rolling along the dirt and striking a tree. The helm had stopped their skull from cracking against the trunk, but it might have been a mercy if she didn’t have that protection. The warrior couldn’t scream, stunned from the impact. The creature growled, making its way to her.

 

This is it, then. This is how I die. I should’ve figured we needed more people, better equipment. I should’ve spoken up before we ran off after this thing. I should’ve sent more letters to my family. I should’ve spoken more to that cute maid.

This was supposed to be a simple hunt.

The world began to fade. Oliath extended this small mercy to the warrior; she won’t be conscious in her last moments.

 

* * *

 

The warrior opened her eyes. What greeted her was the inside of a large tree trunk. But, instead of dank and dark, there was warmth. A nearby fire crackled. The sound of bubbling. Along the wall beside her were shelves, holding books and trinkets.

A figure leaned over the reclining warrior. Their face was covered with a large, worn scarf. A wide-brimmed hat topped their head, its pointed top crumpling to the side.

“Look at you, finally deciding to wake up,” the person said in a rough, dismissive voice. Metallic scraping could be heard just beside them.

The warrior looked around, but even this movement was something she was painful to do. “Are you my reaper,” she whispered. In the silence of the tree, it was booming.

The figure stood next to a brick hearth built into the side of the tree trunk, glowing logs and a low flame within it. Above it was a small metal cauldron, into which the figure stirred a ladle. Just as the scarf obscured their face, their large coat and ragged clothing obscured their silhouette.

“Yes, the reaper collected you just to bring back to their home and nurse you back to health. It’s quite charitable of them; do be thankful for the effort.” Walking back to the warrior, they held in their hands a wooden bowl and spoon. Inside was the the steaming contents of the cauldron. “Are you well enough to sit up?”

A giant blanket was draped over the warrior. Under her head was a plush, if lumpy, pillow. Their body sank into a mattress that rarely saw use from how stiff it was. Reaching an arm behind them to prop up, she pushed herself up. Her side burned as she did this, wincing from the motion.

“Slow down, slow down. You broke some of your ribs, and your other arm isn’t any better.”

The warrior’s shield arm was tied into a sling, held close to her and wrapped in tight bandages.

“It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would,” she mused.

“That’s because I’ve been giving you medicine. Speaking of, it’s time for your next dose. But, since you’re awake, why don’t you try taking it yourself.” They handed the bowl to her. Gloves covered their hands; the only part of them that was visible was their eyes, dark and emotionless.

Her fingers didn’t have the strength to firmly grasp the bowl. Whenever the figure tried to loosen their grip from it, it tipped. “Guess you can’t. Alright then,” the figure said as they scooped up some liquid from the bowl. It looked like thick soup, but something about the smell was off. “Here, eat.”

The warrior leered into the bowl, taking her nose to it. There was something pungent, overripe about the smell of it. “What is this supposed to be?”

“If I told you,” they said impatiently, “you wouldn’t eat it. Now, eat.”

The warrior hesitated, opening her mouth slowly as she thought what could be in the concoction. Before she could have the time to think of anything concrete, the spoon was forced into her mouth, the liquid spilling onto her tongue. Bitterness filled the range of her taste, mixed with bland vegetable soup. She flinched back from the spoon as it was pulled from her teeth, holding her hand to her mouth to clean some spillage. She swallowed quickly to get rid of the taste, coughing afterwards.

“There, see? That wasn’t so bad. It’s just medicine,” the figure said, already prepared with another spoonful. “The worse it tastes, the better; sweet-tasting medicine doesn’t do the job. You ought to know that, in your line of work.”

The warrior accepted the next serving, putting up less of a fight. The shock of the taste didn’t hit as hard, now that she was ready for it; she couldn’t stop herself from coughing again. “How do you know what I do for a living?”

The figure rolled their eyes, pointing to a pile of damaged equipment at the foot of the bed. “With this kind of kit, with that group of people you had with you? You could be nothing more but mercenaries, or worse, adventurers. Let me guess; you were going after that creature that’s been attacking the village, right? That was stupid,” they said as they fed another spoonful to her.

After taking the next helping, the warrior looked over the collection. Her shield, her armor, her helmet: it was all either cracked or crushed. Her sword was absent. “We had no idea it was a monster. We thought it was some wild animal at first, like a large bear getting ready to hibernate. We were going to take our time with it, but it took off with one of the villagers instead of just some livestock. We had to chase it down, after that. That’s when we saw its blood.”

The figure sighed. “You saw the black blood, but didn’t think to tell any of the villagers. Just took off after it, thinking you could handle it; explains how you ended up there. Well, I can’t blame you for trying.” They handed the bowl off to the warrior. She fumbled with it at first, thinking her grip would fail. But, in those few moments, her hand found its strength again.

“What’s in this soup?”

“Are you really going to make me repeat myself? You’re going to make me late.”

The warrior blinked. “Late?”

“Yes, late.” The figure slowly rose up from the side of the bed, approaching the door. “People in the village are waiting for me to report what had happened in the forest.”

A faint bit of relief welled up in the warrior. “Then I’m in the village? Everything’s alright?”

“Only for now. I have to clean up after your group bungled things. If you had just waited and told the people here what you saw, they would’ve summoned me sooner. Perhaps the rest of your compatriots would still be alive, as well.” With that, the figure turned the door handle.

 

Light from beyond the door poured in. What was once only lit by a meager fire was now illuminated by the next room. The warrior squinted, bringing up their hand to shield their eyes.

“Your mercenary’s awake,” the figure announced. “Still tired and wounded, but--”

Before they could finish speaking, others approached them. One was the village chief, an old, portly man with a full beard and a flattened cap. The other was a woman dressed as a barmaid. “Bronagh’s okay? She actually made it?” the chief asked roughly.

The figure’s hat bobbed as they nodded. “Only barely. Your creature left quite a mark on her, but--”

The barmaid suddenly barreled past the two, leaning over the warrior’s bed. Her eyes darted between their eyes and their slinged arm. Her eyes were getting misty. “You’re really alive? You’re really okay?” she said with terrible worry.

The warrior’s smile got wider as the barmaid got closer. Her rough hand stroked along the maid’s cheek. “Yeah, I’m fine. I wasn’t about to die before seeing you again.”

The maid’s eyes brightened as tears fell, arms wrapping around the warrior’s wide shoulders, running their hands through their short, cropped brown hair. She couldn’t speak, the only sounds she could make were overjoyed sobs.

“It’s alright, I’m okay,” said Bronagh, holding the maid close, ignoring the pain in her slung arm as she ran her fingers through the girl’s long black hair.

 

A clicking was heard under the figure’s scarf. “You’re far from alright.” The maid loosened her embrace only enough to turn to face them, Bronagh shifting in the bed.

“What’s wrong, great witch?” the chief asked.

Rather than explaining, the witch pulled the cover away from the warrior’s bed. The worst of the injuries that could be seen before was a few scrapes, bruising and swelling, and the arm. Now, they could see that the warrior was missing one of her legs, severed above the knee. White bandages were wrapped and layered tight around it, but bits of red still seeped through.

Bronagh stared. The maid gasped. “Oh lord, Bronagh…”

“It’ll heal, so long as you don’t reopen the wound from moving around too much. Needless to say,” the witch mused as they nudged their staff along the warrior’s kit, “you won’t be needing this anymore. Your adventuring days are behind you with this kind of injury.”

The maid now shot away from her lover, approaching the witch. “Please, there must be something you can do about this! You’ve mended worse wounds before!”

The chief brought their hand down to the maid’s shoulder, pulling her aside. A quiet anger edged his voice. “Taldrie, what are you doing-”

The maid pushed off the chief’s arm, facing them. They couldn’t hold back any more. “Just as it looks, father: I’m asking the witch for help.”

The chief tried to raise his voice, but the witch’s staff came between the two. “That’s enough,” they said annoyedly. They tapped the top of their staff to the maid’s nose. “What makes you think you can afford my services for this sort of thing?”

Taldrie hastily cleaned the tears from her cheeks, taking a deep breath. “We know your price for restoring limbs. I’m willing to pay it.”

“Wait, Taldrie-” Bronagh exclaimed, before she waved a hand to her for silence.

“I don’t need a servant at the moment, nor an assistant,” the witch said. “Not to mention servitude isn’t near enough. This is more than a lost limb, dear. Do you know what the creature was that took it? Would you like to know?”

“What do you mean? It’s a large bear that turned into a man-eater, isn’t it?” asked the barmaid, to which the witch shook their head, glaring at the chief from the sides of their eyes.

“Your father didn’t tell you, then. Your creature is a fendyg.”

 

The maid’s fierce, determined expression turned grave. What was once worried but warm faces on her and the chief had become distant.

“What’s wrong? What’s a fendyg?” Bronagh asked. Both the chief and maid slowly backed away past the door. “Wait, Taldrie, what’s wrong?” The concern in the warrior’s voice grew.

“To be wounded by a fendyg and survive means you’ve caught its affliction.” The witch brought down a hand to what’s left of Bronagh’s leg. “A fendyg is something of a local legend in these mountains. Are you perhaps familiar with werewolves, mercenary? I’m sure you’ve tussled with those throughout your travels,” they said with a hint of sarcasm.

Bronagh shook her head. “N-not intimately, no. I’ve only ever heard of them, and only in stories.”

“Then,” the witch continued, paying no mind to the warrior’s annoyance, “you know the gist of what’s wrong, then. A fendyg’s similar. It’s unlike anything you’ve seen past these mountains: larger, stronger, and faster than some bear, and several times more deadly. Worse yet, if you survive an attack, you catch its affliction.”

Bronagh began looking as pale as the others. It was almost funny how, just moments ago, they were worried about their future career; now, they knew any life they had was over. Taldrie spoke up, trying to hide the hopeless tinge in her voice. “Please, Cein, there must be something you can do for her,” she whispered. “I’ll do anything, please-”

“Stop.” The witch tapped their staff to the woman’s chest. “There’s nothing to be done. None of you in this village could afford my services for this, even if you pooled everything you had together. This subject is done.”

Taldrie bowed her head, but didn’t let go of the robes. “Then… Then what can you do about our bear, now that you know it’s a fendyg?”

Cein adjusted the brim of their hat. More clicking. “My price for that hasn’t changed. So long as the chief follows through, I’ll take care of it.”

The maid’s eyes glanced over to the warrior, who sat silently, stunned. “And what about Bronagh?”

“She’s part of your problem. I’ll take care of her as well.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bronagh protested.

“You’re cursed now, mercenary. Unless you’re able to cure yourself of such, your life as a human is forfeit.”

 

“B-but what of the first one? Is it still out in the woods,” the chief whispered.

“I’ve kept it trapped in the woods. Though, preoccupied is more accurate. I’ve kept it in one place to give myself some time to think of a way to handle it.”

“Handle it?” The chief’s white moustache bristled. “Is it not enough to kill it?”

“Killing a fendyg isn’t simple. It’ll simply heal whatever wounds you give it, no matter how grievous. It takes time to prepare something that will truly end its life. That’s what I’ve been doing this whole week, while taking care of your daughter’s lover. Do appreciate the efforts I’m going through. Or, would you feel better if I raised my fees for my service.”

The chief grit his teeth. He could feel the few remaining years he had come away every time he had to deal with this person. “N-no, it’s alright, Cein. I’ll trust your judgement, so long as the matter’s settled.”

“And it will be settled soon. If you’ll excuse me, I have some preparations to make. The next time I visit, it will be to collect payment. I’ll see you then.”

Without another word, the maid and the chief left the room, closing the door behind them with a loud thump. Bronagh called to Taldrie once more, but she didn’t turn. A chill came over the warrior’s whole body.

With the door closed, the room was dark once again, lit only by the hearth. The harsh silhouette of the witch was cast upon the door as they faced their guest. “So, Bronagh, was it? What will you do now?”

The warrior gripped the end of their leg. She tried to think of something, to organize her thoughts. But there were no thoughts to organize. All she could feel was a pit in her stomach.

“I cannot blame you,” the witch sighed. They knelt by the fire, preparing the next helping of their tasteless soup. “It’s quite sudden. You had plans for a life with that girl once this was all over, yes?”

Bronagh took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m going to die tonight.”

The witch snickered, accompanied by the clacking of something hard striking something underneath their scarf. “That will be up to you.”

“What do you mean?” The despair in Bronagh’s voice didn’t let up.

“I’m going to need your help, of course, to take care of the fendyg as I promised.” The witch pulled down their scarf and poured down the contents of the bowl into the uncovered space. Not a drop spilled as the soup was consumed. The witch covered their face up again before speaking. “You’ll need to act as my assistant. I’m going to need a bit of time to study the both of you.”

 

The warrior’s lips tightened. “I won’t be your rat to experiment with. There must be something else I can do.”

“Hmm? You really think you can do much with that leg of yours?”

“There must be something I can do.” The despair became frustration.

The witch was now looming over the warrior. She hadn’t noticed when they had moved, only realized they were next to her when the shadow fell over her. “There is something, actually.”

The warrior stared into the face of the witch. Covered by the scarf, they couldn’t make out any features. It was only this close that Bronagh realized that the witch never blinked. “If you were able to mend yourself as they do, you could grow a new leg in moments. They’re resilient, incredibly tough to kill because of that wild regeneration. Thankfully, you’re already afflicted.”

The warrior shuffled back in the bed, pressing their back to the wall as the witch leaned closer with each word. “The medicine I’ve been giving you hasn’t been nursing you back to health. It was keeping your affliction at bay. You were much worse off when I found you. Practically speaking, you were dead. But, your corpse was already becoming one of those things. What I’ve been doing is administering enough medicine to keep you from turning completely, but giving your nature enough leeway to do its work. By rights, it’s impressive you were able to maintain your memories and personality. You managed to fool the girl well enough, at least.”

 

Bronagh grasped the witch’s robes and pulled them close, gritting her teeth. They couldn’t take feeling scared any longer. “What did you do to me, you damned witch?!”

The witch calmly wrapped their hand around the warrior’s wrist. “I saved you, and saved myself some trouble. If I had left you there, I’d have two fendygs to deal with. I doubt the village would survive an attack from two of them.”

Bronagh’s grip tightened. “Taldrie called you a witch, tried to strike a deal with you, and you entertained the idea. She and her dad called you Cein, right? Am I going to have to make a deal with you to get your help?”

She couldn’t see their face, but she could feel it. The witch was smiling. “Cut to the chase, then. I can help you regain some of your strength, just enough for you to try and restore your leg on your own. In return, you’ll help me take care of the beast. You’ll do as I say as we do so. After that, our deal is up.”

Bronagh yanked Cein closer. “But what about me? Can’t you cure me?”

The witch’s voice started to strain. “I can’t guarantee that, not yet. That’s why I’m asking for your help. I want to see if fendygs in such an advanced state can be cured.”

Her fist loosened. “You’re… trying to cure it?”

“Of course. I want to try and help him, and if I can’t, I’ll kill him.”

“Then, when you said you’d take care of me, you meant you’d help me?”

“Why would I kill you after trying to bring you back from nearly dying? I needed to find out what happened, and you’re a valuable research subject.”

Brondagh was taken aback by how insulted they sounded. They let go of the fabric, Cein leaning back from the bed and smoothing out the crimps in their clothing. “Sorry, I had no idea.”

“Yes, well, your job wasn’t ever to think, I’m betting.” Cein rooted around through a desk’s shelves for a few moments before producing a glass bottle filled with a dark liquid. They handed it to the warrior, uncorking it for them. “Here. It’s an antidote for the medicine I’ve been giving you. It’ll take a moment to work, but it should start being effective once we’ve arrived at my study.”

When it was diluted into soup, it smelled and tasted bitter. In a concentrated amount, the scent alone was almost unbearable. “Phuah, this is awful.”

“Oh, wait until you actually drink it, it’s horrendous,” the witch said amusedly.

“Hold on.” Bronagh swirled the bottle in their hand. “You called this an antidote. You’ve been feeding me poison?”

The witch casually shrugged. “A steady dosing of a strong enough poison is the easiest way to keep a regenerator out of commission. If I had given you too much, we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

 

The warrior, hesitating long enough, knocked back the bottle, drinking down the contents. She winced as it hit her tongue; it was as if she was drinking rotten tree sap mixed with standing water after a flood. She forced down each gulp. There wasn’t much choice, if she wanted to be free of this disease.

Bronagh took deep breaths once the bottle was drained, but still couldn’t help but heave once it was over.

“Told you,” Cein chuckled. They then tossed their staff to the bed. “Use this to walk. It’s not far, but it’s still a walk. Try standing.”

The warrior, still recovering from the experience, curled her fingers around the wood of the staff. It was rough, gnarled and knotted at points. It was less a staff and more a branch that was straight enough to call it such. She brought her leg out from the bed, testing it before attempting to stand. It felt weak, but had enough strength to it to support her weight. She held the staff close to her shoulder, swayed and wobbled for a moment, but seemed to get her balance.

“Hmm. You’re taller than you look. Now,” the witch said as they turned the handle to the door, “let’s be off.”

“Are we going to walk all the way from the village?” Bronagh asked. “There’s no way I can make it that far like this.”

“What’re you talking about?” The door opened, and beyond it was darkness. A cold wind blew in from beyond its threshold.

Bronagh stared out into the door. “But, wasn’t the village-”

“If you have time to gawk, you have time to walk,” As the witch disappeared into the darkness, they spoke a few words. A tiny mote of light appeared in their cupped hands, and they allowed it to flit away, moving as an insect would. The light grew stronger until it acted as a powerful lantern, floating near Cein. “Well? You’re on a job now, mercenary, injury or not.”

The light from Cein’s source exposed glistening rock walls, a high ceiling with low stone formations. Beyond their points was more darkness. There was a slight incline downward as the two walked further into the cave. Cein slowed their pace as they saw Bronagh having a difficult time traversing the the stone steps and wooden planks.

Even if they had both legs, it would’ve been hard to walk. The antidote was hitting her harder than she thought it would. Her stomach constantly gurgled and tensed.

“If you want to stop for a moment, we can-”

“No, I’m fine,” Bronagh interrupted. “Let’s keep going.”

 

Eventually, the two reached a wooden door, braced and reinforced with metal. It was pressed into the cave wall, looking as if it were pushed into it rather than constructed. Cein placed a gloved hand on the handle, turning it, then waiting.

Bronagh groaned as their stomached turned, the sound echoing to untold parts of the cave. The antidote was only becoming more uncomfortable with each second. “What are you waiting for, just open the door.”

“I’m waiting for the door to attune,” they grumbled. “Keep your voice down, I don’t have the patience to deal with anything else in this cave.”

“Anything else?” Bronagh whispered, adjusting her footing as she moved closer. “You mean to tell me you built something here, but you haven’t even cleared it out yet?”

“This cave is enormous; hunting down every last thing would be unnecessary. I only made as much as I needed.” Cein pulled the door as they conversed, warm light exploding into the cave. Bronagh flinched, blinded. The wisp dissipated as the light bathed it, its task complete. “Come in; past here is my study. Continue keeping your voice down, though.”

 

Inside was a room larger than the one Bronagh had awoken in. Easily two stories tall, the walls were covered in shelves filled with books, contraptions, and jars. Several desks dotted the room, all covered with scrawled pages, open tomes, and half-finished mixtures and experiments. The floor had more books and pages littered about.

In the center of the room was the fendyg. Its legs were bound together tight with thick vines. It laid on the ground limp, beak hung open and eyes closed.

Bronagh felt her entire body tense. Instinct and training took over. She let go of the staff and reached for her sword, groping at empty air. The loss of the staff made her lose her footing and fall, back slamming against the door behind her. Even as she fell, her eyes remained on the beast.

Cein turned back to the panicked warrior. “He’s incapacitated. There’s nothing to fear.”

She felt her heart in her throat, breathing coming in quick, soundless bursts. The witch walked slowly to her, picking up the fallen staff and laying it on her lap. “Calm down. He couldn’t hurt you if he tried, I’ve seen to that. But, if you wish, you can stay there while I prepare.”

Cein approached one of the desks, sweeping off loose pages. They opened their robe, producing a knife within its leather sheath. As they unhooked and pulled out the knife, they reached into another pocket. They retrieved a glass vial, containing a fluid similar in color and texture to the antidote.

Bronagh lifted herself off the ground with some difficulty while Cein uncorked the vial and began pouring it onto the knife’s edge. “What is that thing doing here?” she gasped.

“It’s as I said; I’ve kept him preoccupied.” Cein smoothed the viscous solution over the edge with their gloved fingers, turning the blade to make sure it didn’t drip.

The warrior, now closer to the fendyg, cast a careful eye to it. She only noticed now, but it was so much smaller than she remembered. At its former size, it towered over her. She knew she felt the ground shake with its every step. It was only slightly larger than than her now. She moved closer, and could now see its features were almost human. It no longer had so many eyes, its forelegs looked like arms. When she leaned to get a closer look at the face, it even looked someone like a person.

One of its eyes opened, and looked up to the warrior. The beak twitched, but all it could do was continue its labored breathing.

 

“Why does it look like this?” Bronagh asked, backing away from the bound beast.

“Fendygs are still people.” Cein walked past her, standing above the creature, knife in hand. Its eye now looked up to them. “What makes you who you are is still there, underneath all this. You can still tease it out, but if it’s sunk too deep, it needs a little help.” Their head raised to face Bronagh. “How are you feeling, by the way? Nausea dissipated?”

She blinked. “I, uh… Yes, I think it’s better-”

In the span of time it took for her to blink, Cein lunged forward, the knife slicing into their shield arm. The edge cut deep, and the sling was cut loose. Bronagh, already too late to dodge, still threw her body backward to avoid anything else. Now a heap on the floor, she brought the staff in front of her. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Helping you. Have a look.”

The wound was oozing black, the pain spread throughout the arm rather than around the slash. As the first drops hit the ground, the ooze took shape. It turned into small black fingers, hands, and arms, all undulating and bending at odd angles. The dark limbs quickly retreated back into the wound, the cut closing as quickly as the ooze mutated.

The warrior’s calm demeanor finally broke. She couldn’t quiet her breathing, nor could she calm her heart. Something under the skin of the arm wriggled, leaving hot pain behind. She held her arm close to her chest, wrapping her hand tight around the elbow to stop it from advancing. “What have you done to me?!” she demanded.

“I’ve done nothing,” Cein said, calmly observing. “This is who you are now. You may still be a person, but you’re no longer human. You’re a fendyg, just like he is.”

It was futile to stop the spread of what was in her arm. It went up to the shoulder, and lingered there for the moment. Bronagh broke into a sweat, grasping her shoulder and feeling the skin roil and change underneath her hand. She fell into a full panic as she felt the sensation extend into her chest. The muscles throughout her abdomen spasmed. When she moved to clutch her stomach, it was only then she noticed her shield-arm was restored, as good as new.

“What’s happening,” Bronagh groaned, trying to keep conscious.

“You’re regenerating. You don’t know how to do it on your own, so I had to start it for you.” Cein knelt down in front of her, removing the bandages from her leg. “The first time is always the worst; you’re not used to it yet. Just concentrate on mending yourself. Keep a clear head, and don’t think of anything else while this is happening, or it’ll go out of control.”

Bronagh felt the warmth in her gut, coughing and heaving relentlessly. Everything felt like it was moving, reshaping, reorganizing. It was hard to keep track of it all. Spreading to the leg, she watched as the black ooze burst out from the half-healed wound. Toes, feet, and whole legs took shape and melted back into the ooze with every second, working down the limb. She gripped the thigh and let out the scream she was holding back. Fixing what was broken was nothing compared to the agony of growing something that was gone.

In response, the bound fendyg let out its own meek cry. Even as withered as it was, it was a low roar.

Hearing it brought Bronagh back to the forest, the memory of her first encounter with it. She could remember the screams of her comrades, how quickly they were struck down, how they became its next meal. She could remember her short resistance against it.

She remembered lying on cold earth, broken and helpless, watching the thing walk to her to finish it all. There was nothing she could do but wait for the end. Fear took hold.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

 

Cein was closely observing as the warrior struggled against the regenerative process. When the fendyg cried out, they averted their eyes from her for just a moment, raising their knife to strike at the beast. In that instant, they heard Bronagh a long yell. When they turned back to see what had happened, they felt their heart stop.

The growth along their new leg changed, the ooze no longer producing human limbs. It turned chaotic, the shapes and sizes varying wildly. Bronagh stared at the fendyg. Her eyes were wide as a child going through a night-terror. Her screams were like a banshee’s, unending.

Cein watched as her body twitched and shifted. Her skin grew thick and tan, sprouting hairs and becoming a fur pelt. Her head elongated, teeth becoming vicious fangs. Her screams deepened, turning to roars of her own. Arms lurched forward, elbows snapping and reforming the limbs into legs, talons extending from the tips of her  fingers.

The witch threw themself back, running to one of the desks. She was destabilizing, and catastrophically. They’d never seen someone turn so quickly before. It was beyond their most generous expectations.

What was once Bronagh grew in size. Twice her size, three times, four times. Cein moved further back as the new creature grew, looking for their staff. It was by the creature’s feet, stomping about as its metamorphosis progressed. There was not much they could do so long as the staff was beyond their reach.

When the change finished, the creature reared up its head and let out a shrill cry that shook the walls of the study. It was only slightly similar to a giant wolf, but its form was all wrong. The fangs within its mouth were longer, curved inward. The legs were covered in thick musculature, and ended with dark, gleaming talons longer than most swords. The dark grey and brown coat of fur covering its body was matted down and glistening, still fresh after its turning. Black spines sprouted out of the creature’s hide, catching parchment and skewering whole books as it thrashed side to side. The eyes were no longer a vibrant, warm brown; they turned yellow, and shimmered in the light of the study. It lacked eyelids, forever staring.

The green fendyg tried to answer back to it, roaring. The creature merely lifted its paw and brought it down on its head, silencing it. Its mouth opened wide, and it began to feast upon its first kill.

Cein cursed under their breath. They underestimated how hardy Bronagh was as a host, and how much her affliction had taken a hold of her. Now she had another wild fendyg to deal with.

They crept up to the wolf, keeping low to the ground. The former fendyg acting as a meal may be the best distraction they could ask for, but it wouldn’t last for long.

Inch after inch, step after step, Cein kept a close eye on the creature. Its maw covered in the black blood of the other, all of its attention was set on satisfying its appetite. As Cein got under its belly, they looked around for their staff. It was knocked further away from it as it moved closer to the carcass, already finished with the top half. It was now lodged against a bookcase, the pool of black extending to soak it. Shapes were bubbling within the ichor.

 

The wolf cried out as black tendrils wrapped around its head and forelegs, pulling it down. What remained of the first fendyg spasmed, what was left of its blood rushing out to lash out.

Cein ran behind the bookcases, ducking as it was knocked over and its contented upended over them. It was weakened, but far from dead.

Cein lunged to retrieve their staff, pulling it free from the dark roots that seeped into it. As they turned to run to safety, one of the wolf’s talons cut through the wood of the bookcase, and went through the witch’s robes. They fell to the ground, clutching their side.

A few short words. A moment to think. It was all they needed to get away.

As the wolf crunched its teeth down on the last piece of the fendyg’s body, Cein crawled past the fallen bookcase, pulling their scarf loose to breathe. They spoke the first word of their chant, and the wolf stopped, long ears pricking up. Cein could already feel the fendyg’s senses catching their presence, and what they were doing.

The next word came, and it pulled itself free from the grip of its prey, the wounds it sustained already healing. The ichor seeping out from its cuts and lashes turned into all manner of terrible anatomies, each new growth deadlier than the last.

The final word, and their thought. The spell was incanted, but without a target, it was useless. Cein looked back over their shoulder. All they could see was the great wolf coming for them, mouth opening. What was once Bronagh wasn’t satisfied with its first prey.

 

* * *

 

The young maid laid silently in her bed. She had cried herself half to sleep, mourning the loss of someone she had only met recently, but had fallen for in that short amount of time. Every person who tried to woo her before never caught her interest. It was only when a group of professional hunters that her father hired that she saw someone who made her turn her head.

There were the young rangers in the party, who already had the attention of the other women in the village. To Taldrie, they looked too brash and full of themselves. A tracker was with them, a local guide who knew the area. Taldrie had known him since she was a child. The cleric was not only an older man, but a man of the cloth. It was only when Taldrie noticed the bodyguard for the cleric that she felt some color in her cheeks.

The bodyguard, in her fitted leather armor supplemented with plating and chainmail on her limbs and abdomen, cut an imposing and impressive image for the girl who had never travelled beyond the mountains. Her dark hair was cut short, a necessity for combat. Her skin was tanned from always being outdoors, and a few long-faded scars still lined her face. Her eyes were a light brown, but to the maid, they looked like gold. With the helmet tied to a loop on her belt, the devil-may-care persona that Taldrie imagined was complete.

Taldrie herself felt inadequate in comparison.

No-one dared bother the bodyguard. Whenever someone approached the cleric, she was close by, keeping a keen eye upon whoever approached. Whenever the bodyguard casually placed her hand on the hilt of her sword out of boredom, the villagers kept their distance.

It was only on a night when the hunting party had come to the inn she worked at for lodging and meals that Taldrie had the courage to come close to the bodyguard. Between their conversations and plans, Taldrie carefully served their meals and drinks and sped off, looking to the side to catch one last glance of the bodyguard before leaving. She didn’t understand what made her heart race, just seeing her or being close to her.

Two nights before the attack, Taldrie was exiting the inn’s kitchen with a platter full of food and drink when she looked over to the table the party always used. On days before, they spent the day surveying the forest and trying to find what they guessed was a giant bear before it came down again for its next meal. When they turned in to the inn to rest, they kept to themselves, only speaking to others when they were ready to pay and to retire to their rooms.

Tonight, Taldrie saw that the bodyguard had already changed out of the top half of her armor, wearing only a loose, sleeveless tunic. At the sound of the doors closing behind the maid, the bodyguard was the only one to look her way. When their gazes met, the bodyguard smiled. The maid’s ears burned.

Her hands were shaking as she served the plates to the party, who largely ignored the girl. But, Taldrie could feel the gaze of the bodyguard on her, and felt her nerves fraying a little bit more. When she got to the bodyguard’s serving, the last of the table, the bodyguard spoke.

“Thank you, lass.”

Hearing the brusque voice directed to her caught her off-guard. She only heard her speak in short sentences when it was necessary to speak, and she always sounded so serious. This new melody was never something she imagined the bodyguard was capable of.

Taldrie stared into the bodyguard’s eyes, not able to answer. All she could manage was a whimper. The object of her affection made a low chuckle. “Remember to breathe.”

It was enough to make Taldrie snap out of it. It wasn’t enough to make her remember she had the bodyguard’s mug in her hands. She swung the mug behind her back as she returned to the pose she always defaulted to, unwittingly splashing ale across the bodyguard’s face.

The others at the table stopped their deliberation, glaring at the maid. Before they could express their anger, the bodyguard wiped off her face with her bare hand.

“Am I really that scary-looking?” she questioned. A light blush had come across the bodyguard’s cheeks. The earlier drinks had made her merrier than usual.

“Ah, sorry, miss! I’ll get a cloth!” Taldrie felt a terrible knot in her stomach as she ran back to the kitchen, fishing around for some clean fabric. If it were anyone else, she would’ve already returned with whatever cloth was on top of the pile. But, now that it was this woman, the maid didn’t notice that she was getting picky.

This one was already used to clear off dishes. That one was used for the mugs. This one was clean, but too grey, used a few times before and then quickly cleaned. There must be one white cloth here we haven’t used yet, she hoped, now digging to the bottom.

Minutes later, the maid left the kitchen in defeat, retrieving the least grey one she could find. Waiting for her just outside the door was the bodyguard, arms crossed in front of her chest.

Taldrie squeaked, pressing her back on the wall behind her. She was so much taller than she imagined now that she was right in front of her. “S-sorry to make you wait, miss, but I tried to find a clean cloth for you. Please forgive me, this was the best one I could find.”

The bodyguard quirked an amused brow to Taldrie. Without warning, the woman knelt and took a hold of the maid’s apron, tied in front of her dress. With a handful of the fabric in hand, the bodyguard wiped off her face. “I think that looked cleaner.”

Taldrie’s face turned bright red.

“What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you lass all night.” The bodyguard now stood, stepping closer.

Taldrie’s eyes darted around. The woman dominated her vision. One muscled arm was hanging casually to her side, while the other braced against the wall, leaning her weight into it. Her broad shoulders cast a shadow over her. Her eyes looked at nothing else but the maid before her.

“I’m… I’m Taldrie, miss. My father is the chief of this village.”

The bodyguard smirked. “It’s a good name. You’ve had your eye on me for a while, haven’t you?”

Taldrie’s embarrassment felt like it was enough to kill her. “Ah… Yes, miss, I have. I apologize for the offence.”

The bodyguard waved in the air. “Oh no, don’t apologize.  It’s not often I get to catch the eye of someone as fine as you.”

This definitely felt like enough to make her die. All she could do was stammer again.

“I’m Bronagh,” the bodyguard said, leaning close and keeping their voice low. “I’ve had my eye on you, too. Our business here may be concluded soon. I’d be disappointed if we didn’t get the chance to get acquainted before I left.”

The maid felt faint, the heart beat in her ears liable to burst. The woman leaned down to whisper into Taldrie’s ear. She smelled of sweat, leather, and the local alcohol. Somehow, she didn’t mind the scent. “When you’re done with your duties tonight, it would mean the world to me if you paid a visit to my room. I trust you can find someplace private for us from there?”

Taldrie didn’t notice how loud her breathing had gotten, and covered her mouth with the grey cleaning cloth. “Ah… Um…”

Bronagh chuckled. “You don’t have to decide now. No hard feelings if you don’t come by.”

Taldrie gulped. Was this really happening?

“Bronagh, quit scaring the poor thing and come back here! You’ve made your point!” The tracker stood up from his seat, seething at the way one of his neighbors was being treated.

The bodyguard winked. “I do hope to see you.” She pushed off from the wall and gave the tracker a hard glare, her demeanor changing entirely. “Ahh, you countryfolk have no idea how to have fun.”

Taldrie watched Bronagh walk back to her table. She had a hand to her chest, not able to believe how heated she felt. It was as if she had run from one village to the next several times. It didn’t leave her fatigued; rather, she was excited, giddy even.

That night was something she’d never forget.

And now that woman, the first person she ever loved, had been claimed by a fendyg. By all counts, she was as good as dead.

At least I got to see her one last time.

 

There was a flash outside her door, as well as the sound of crashing and items falling over. The girl shot up from underneath the sheets. A burglar? What could they want from her home? Everyone in the village knew they didn’t have much, especially not after asking for the witch’s help. They were only able to get the witch’s fee together with the help of the rest of the village.

Taldrie snuck out of bed and towards the door, carefully unsheathing a small dagger on her bedside table. She’d never used it for more than food preparation and cutting away weeds. The only time it was used as a weapon was to fend off crows.

Whatever made the racket in the house’s common room had made its way to her door. She laid a hand on the handle, gathered her courage, and swung it open, dagger raised and poised.

In front of her was a heap of cloth, with a wide-brimmed pointed hat atop it. A glove was clutching a long, thick branch, scraped and roughly whittled to act as a walking stick. Holding its side with its other hand, the heap wheezed and gasped.

The witch, Cein.

Taldrie braced herself against the doorframe, pointing her dagger down to the witch. “W-what are you doing here so late? Are you trying to take some sort of advance payment?”

Cein tried to sit up, but the effort made them wince, their side flaring. “I… I need your help, girl.”

The grip on her dagger loosened. “My help? What could I do to help you?”

The witch lifted their hand from their side, displaying the palm to the girl. A dark stain covered it. “It’s Bronagh. I need your help with Bronagh.”

Taldrie’s eyes widened when she saw the palm. She hastily sheathed her weapon, but kept it on hand.“You’re bleeding! I need to help you first! Please, stay here, I’ll get some bandages.”

“There isn’t time,” Cein whispered. “We have to get ready before-”

Far from the village, a long high-pitched howl cut through the forest. Taldrie froze; it was no animal call she had heard before, nor was it the bellowing of what turned out to be a fendyg. It sounded so far away, but it was so loud.

“What in Oliath’s name is that?” Taldrie’s voice trembled.

“Warn the rest of the village,” the witch growled, finally able to sit up. The hat tilted back enough to expose Cein’s face. Taldrie froze from the sight. “The fendyg problem hasn’t been solved yet.”

 

Running from one house to another, the villagers awoke their neighbors and spread the message. That howl they heard was the fendyg. It’s coming, and the witch wanted as many people as they can to leave the village. There wasn’t much time before it would be here.

In the middle of the night, it would take some time to get to everyone. Anyone that was able to move on such short notice went to the fields past the village. Cein and Taldrie stayed behind, as did some of the able-bodied, fit enough to fight. It was part of the bargain for keeping the girl from leaving with the rest; the chief and other villagers took what arms they could muster and formed a line to defend their home. A great bonfire was made past the town’s gate. Torches were lit and held high.

The witch cursed the men’s stubbornness.

One hour was all they had. By then, the ragtag militia could feel the ground tremble under their feet. The treetops swayed, leaves and birds scattering as something large passed through the forest. The men muttered to each other, what bravado they had now faltering.

Taldrie knelt by the witch, sitting silently in the dirt. She had put on a coat over her cotton nightgown. Her dagger glinted in the fire’s light, the hand that held it shaking. “What are you planning to do, Cein? Are we supposed to fight it?”

Cein checked the cut in their robes. They were able to bandage up with Taldrie’s assistance, but they wouldn’t be able to do much without proper attention. “Only if we have to,” they said. “That’s a last resort, and a long shot at that. You’re going to try and talk to the fendyg.”

Taldrie balked. “Talk to it? It’s a monster! There has to be something else we can do.”

The witch carefully reached into a pocket, a black vial now in their hand. “You’re going to talk to it to distract it. Coat this on your knife thoroughly, and when you have the chance, stab it into the thing. Don’t waste it; it’s my last one.”

The girl took the vial, fumbling with its cork before removing it, pouring it over the short blade. “Is this going to be enough to kill it?”

 

The fendyg’s call muted the crowd. It was at the forest’s edge, weaving past the trees and felling them when it couldn’t fit. Its talons cut through them with ease. The terrible wolf had come to continue its hunt. Bright eyes dotted above a steaming maw, tinged red with red and black.

At the sight, the militia began to back away, retreating step by step back to the village. The chief called out to his daughter, begging her to run away. Taldrie was paralyzed. She could only imagine what the fendyg looked like from what her father told her. This was different. It was far larger than they described, and looked nothing like a skinned bird.

“Stand, girl. Your lover came to see you.”

Taldrie’s scared eyes turned down to the witch. “Bronagh’s here?”

The witch pointed to the monstrosity. “There she is.”

The fendyg strode out from the trees, the distant light of the torches beginning to illuminate it. Its long fangs glistened. Its brown fur bristled. Its claws gleamed, leaving scores in the dirt with every step. Black shapes and limbs exuded from wounds it had sustained.

“I’m sorry. She turned. I tried to help her, but the affliction overtook her.”

Taldrie couldn’t breathe. To think that someone strong enough to survive an attack from something as fearsome as a fendyg would succumb to it in the end. If someone like that could falter, what chance did she have?

 

A heavy stomp brought Taldrie back from her thoughts. The creature was upon them, towering over the group. Its eyes moved from one person to another, taking in each morsel it was about to enjoy.

“Bronagh?”

The meek voice made it stop in place, nose dipping to look at what was below it. Two people, one covered in cloth and the other a terrified girl.

“Bronagh?...”

Its head came down to sniff at the two before it. Something about them seemed familiar. The girl’s hand laid itself on the creature’s snout.

“Is that really you?”

It exhaled, dirt and dust kicking up around them. The hand curled into a fist, clinging to the fur. “No, no no…”

 

Cein gestured to the militia to keep back. They couldn’t afford to make a sound, not while the the fendyg was captivated. This might be the only chance they’d get.

They watched as the girl kept the creature in place, but grew frustrated by her unwillingness to act. The knife was ready. She was close enough to its head for a strike to deliver a strong dose of the solution. But, no-one else could’ve gotten it to act like this.

One man, unable to handle his nerve, let out what he must’ve intended to be an intimidating warcry and charged towards the creature, a sword raised high.

“You fool, stop!” Cein yelled, rapid clicking heard under the scarf.

Taldrie turned to face the charger, raising her arms to shield the best. The man was past reasoning. He swung the dull sword, its edge cutting into her arm. She shrieked, clutching the cut. Red drips splashed to the dirt.

The fendyg roared, and snapped its jaws forward, biting the man and swallowing him with a second bite. It stepped over the girl and witch with ease, passing them and heading straight for the men. A few threw their pitchforks to it as spears, others ran to meet it. A handful turned to flee.

The fendyg’s claws ripped through the vanguard with one swipe. The pitchforks found no purchase in its hide. Its snout dove into the crowd, snapping up a mouthful and consuming them.

The pain she felt subsided as she watched the militia routed so quickly, so easily, before its fury. They had no chance, never did. All she could do was watch.

 

As the last man was cut down, a large stick was thrown to the beast. It bounced against its back, spinning in the air. Cein chanted, the pain in their side worsened by the throw. The staff unfurled and turned into a mass of vines, wrapping around the fendyg’s midsection. It bayed and tried to get away from it, but the struggle only made the vines grow faster. It reached the legs and began to bind them together, causing the giant wolf to topple. It let out one last howl before the vines tightened around its snout.

The witch shot another glare to the girl, panting. “What are you waiting for? Finish it.”

Taldrie couldn’t feel her legs. What made her stand up, she didn’t know. She took a step, fingers curling tight around the dagger’s handle. She could imagine Bronagh, with all her strength and courage, standing before a great beast before becoming bound to it.

Another step. She could hear the warrior’s voice, pleading for someone to help her. She broke into a run. She could see her face clearly, calling to her. The girl called back at the top of her lungs.

The monster tilted its head as best as it could, turning to the sound. Taldrie raised the blade and brought it down into the monster’s temple. The blade snapped as it flinched, knocking her away.

The fendyg became still, and silent. It then spasmed and seized sporadically, finding new strength as the barb in its skin burned. The vines holding it split apart and regrew, crawling across its hide while it tried to scratch out the dagger fragment. The screams it made were horrifying, as if a pig were being slaughtered.

Black bled profusely out from its mouth and open wounds, coating the ground beneath it. Its form withered as more of the ooze left its body, slowly dessicating. The vines found their advantage, and imprisoned it once more. No longer able to fight, the fendyg wasted away within. All that was left was the oil and the stench.

 

Taldrie sat in the dirt in shock. Her nightgown soaked in the black liquid. She still held onto what remained of her dagger, knuckles white.

Cein managed to stand, hobbling over to the ball of vines and making a quick chant into it. The tendrils loosened and coiled into a rod shape, returning to its former appearance of the wooden staff. Cein then dug through the muck that was all that remained of the great wolf, scooping and throwing away globs of the stuff.

The girl stared. She couldn’t feel anything. “Is it done? Is it over?”

The witch ignored her, or couldn’t hear her. They kept working through the pile until they found something that wasn’t viscous.

From within the melted remains of the fendyg, Cein pulled out a body.

 

* * *

 

Warm. Soft. The sound of a roaring fire.

Bronagh stirred from her rest, rubbing at her eyes and yawning. Beside the hearth was Cein and Taldrie, slowly stirring a pot of soup. When they heard her, they both turned in surprise.

“Well, look at that, girl. She actually woke up,” Cein said.

Taldrie threw herself into the bed, wrapping her arms tight around the warrior as she sat up. She didn’t say a word, only nestled herself deep into the crook of Bronagh’s neck. She chuckled awkwardly, not expecting the sudden affection.

“You must be hungry. Want some soup, perhaps?” The witch poured some into a bowl, offering it.

“Thanks, but I’m not actually hungry.” Bronagh looked around. She was back in the strange tree-home of the witch. Cein’s robes were dirty and cut open from the side. Taldrie was in her pajamas, but it had been stained black. Her hands were cold, shaking. Bandages were bound around her forearm. “What happened?”

“Before I anwer that,” Cein said inquisitively, “why don’t you tell me the last thing you remember?”

Bronagh blinked. “Uh. You were telling us about how the bear is actually something called a fendyg. This little thing tried to make a bargain with you. I took some medicine. After that, um. A cave? Lots of books? Sorry, it’s fuzzy after that. I think I might’ve fallen asleep.”

Cein nodded. “I see. I suppose we’ll have to tell you what happened.”

Bronagh laughed, trying to break the mood. “What’s the matter? Did I sleep walk?”

“You turned,” Taldrie mumbled. “That medicine wasn’t good enough.”

“I underestimated how far along your condition had gotten,” Cein sighed. “It must be why you don’t remember much.”

Bronagh quirked her brow. “But, I’m here. I’m fine, as far as I can tell?” She looked over herself as best as she could while Taldrie clung to her. Her clothing and equipment were gone, and there was a film of sludge on her skin. There was a metallic taste in her mouth she hadn’t noticed until now.

“When you turned, I had to escape, find help in the village to try and stop you from doing any damage. Luckily, the two of you met before. You seemed to remember her while you were a beast.” Cein gathered up the torn robes, taking them off and throwing them off to the side. One layer after another came off.

“Well, that’s good then. It sounds like you two had me handled. Why don’t we go back and tell your father?”

“We can’t go back,” Taldrie said, leaning back. “I’m sorry, but…” The girl glanced back to the witch, who nodded their head. “...We can’t go back, because you were exiled. When we turned you back, my father said you couldn’t come back ever again. They didn’t want the curse coming to anyone else.” Taldrie’s voice cracked. “I, I couldn’t bear to never see you again, after all this.”

Bronagh hugged the girl close. “Well, I’m glad we ran into each other, then. I don’t know where I’d be without you. Thanks to you, I’m cured.”

Taldrie quietly sobbed into her shoulder.

Cein approached the bed, loosening the scarf wrapped around their head. “You’re not cured, mercenary. Have a look at your hands. Your arms. Your leg.”

The nails of Bronagh’s hands were replaced with thick black claws, with a sharp point. Her arms were pristine, without a single one of the scars she had accumulated over her lifetime. She felt down the bed, feeling her leg was restored. Pulling over the sheets to make sure, she saw her toes had the same claws. She tongued along the inside of her mouth; her teeth were now supplemented with pointed fangs. Her hair had grown out to its full length, reaching well past the small of her back.

“What is all this,” Bronagh muttered.

“I told you already,” Cein said. “Your life as a human is forfeit. You’re a fendyg now. Your turning and coming back has changed you. You have to be careful around civilization. If you’re found out, no telling what people will do to you.”

Bronagh’s hands, with nowhere else to go, placed themselves around the quivering maid’s waist. “Then… what happens now?”

Cein removed their hat and scarf, setting it down on the desk beside them. Underneath all of the cloth was a woman. Or, what could once be recognized as a woman. What was still human about them was their eyes, face, and some parts of their mouth. The rest resembled parts of an insect. Wisps of hair trailed along their scalp, the rest covered with broken chitin. Antennae sprung forward as the hat was removed, twitching and twisting. The jaw moved, separating and coming back together with a loud click: mandibles.

“I, as a fellow fendyg, will teach you how we survive.”


End file.
